Temper, Temper

Years ago, I had a horrific temper.  My kids used to run in fear sometimes, and I swear that there were moments where I sort of stepped outside my body, and watched this mad harpie screaming and spitting and turning beet red.  It wasn't too fun....

Then, something catastrophic happened in my life and my temper seemed to melt out of me, replaced by a melancholy and hopelessness that was easier (I think) for everyone else to deal with, but it weighed more and never really subsided.  It was, however, easier to cover up.  That temper stuff jumps and dances around, and you can't really throw a blanket on it and pretend it isn't there; the other, though, is sedate and morose, and it will never try very hard to fight out from under whatever you toss over it.  It doesn't have to, because it knows that it has an indefatigable grip on you and it'll never give up.  In the case of depression, slow and steady wins its race.

Today, a drop of liquid set me into a rage.  One drop.  Now, granted, it was a drop of pee on the toilet seat, and so it was annoying, unnerving, wet, freaked me out, you name it.  I found myself in the bathroom shouting, "F*%kin' A!" at the top of my lungs, wiped off the damn seat, finished my bathroom business, and then left the house.  I was frightened.  I haven't felt that kind of anger in years, and it scared the hell outta me.  So, I did what any self-respecting post-menopausal almost-50-year-old woman would do: I went to a craft store.  Now, a couple hours and $32 later (everything was on sale!), I am back at home, calmed down, and trying to accept the fact that this may not be the last time.  Maybe the beast is back.  Then again, maybe that also means that all those other jumping, shouting, hard-to-contain emotions are back as well.  Maybe even joy?

Well, well, well...welcome home...